


Burden

by metalmeisje



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Just to be sure, Smoking, Urban Magic Yogs, oracle!Xephos, umy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalmeisje/pseuds/metalmeisje
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tom is a fallen angel who is looking for some direction, and Xephos sees an opportunity. Metaphorically speaking, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragestil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragestil/gifts).



> The result of many, many brainstorming hours with L about the underyogs in the Urban Magic Yogs universe. I’m having fun playing with these characters and blind oracle!Xephos is my baby. Nrghhh. Contains aforementioned Xephos and fallen angel!Tom. Because why not indulge in the things you love, you know? More will definitely follow. Also, shitty title is shitty, apologies. I'm slowly getting over my fear of posting shit with different headcanons in a universe that is already so great.
> 
> And come on, who doesn't love magical health and safety inspector Tom? The underyogs don't get enough love.

“Smoking? Don’t you think that’s a bit ironic?”

Without waiting for an answer, Xephos settles on the bar stool that he ran a hand over just seconds earlier to see if it was indeed as empty as he expected it to be. The man next to him doesn’t look up, just keeps staring at the drink in his hand as if all the answers can be found somewhere at the bottom of his glass. The smoke from his cigarette curls up in unreadable patterns, hanging over them both in a way that would be ominous if they weren’t in a bar in the good part of town.

There’s a lot of truth to be found in bars, Xephos has found. There are unspoken answers always just beyond reach, filling the space between people who look for solace in the kind of loneliness that can only be found in the company of many strangers. A hell of a lot more truth than he had ever found written in the stars, anyway.

Xephos doesn’t repeat his question and settles into the silence, taking a sip of his own drink before he turns to face the brooding man next to him. This is the person he was looking for, everything about him tells Xephos that; the feeling of  _falling,_ the way he knows the stranger hunches his back almost as if to compensate for some sort of invisible weight – even if Xephos can’t quite see it for himself.

Everything about him feels like tensile wire and heavy smoke and a light so bright even Xephos could barely stand to look at it when it appeared to him, before. It’s not quite as overwhelming now, a bit less  _holy hell am I looking at the sun_ and more  _could you maybe turn it down a notch, friend_  – but no less noticeable. It feels like an open ending.

The man takes another drag from his cigarette, then turns his head and exhales slowly, blowing the smoke in Xephos’ face.

“I’m not looking for company, mate.”

“But you are  _looking_ , aren’t you?”

Xephos has been told many times that he can be too blunt with people that are not waiting for that kind of honesty. And it’s Honeydew’s gentle chastising he is reminded of when he feels the air of their particular spot at the bar grow heavy with anger only just held back, an almost imperceptible sharp static that makes him dizzy for a moment.

“I think you should leave.”

The stranger’s voice is suddenly low-pitched and dark, more like a growl than anything and with a weight behind it that is almost enough to make Xephos retreat. It´s suddenly tempting to forget about approaching the not-quite-man (because let’s be honest, the presence of someone human wouldn’t carry beyond his physical confines this way, stifling the air around him with some sort of authority that Xephos can’t really place yet). No wonder he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling ever since he woke up this morning, with a headache that rivalled even the hangovers that Honeydew’s home-made brews left in their wake.

Xephos feels the eyes of the bartender on him and he smiles shakily in his general direction, the universal sign for  _it’s fine, don’t worry about it, no need to interrupt_.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot, friend. I'm Xephos-“

“The local sees-all, knows-all. Yeah, I know who you are.”

The hint of smugness doesn’t escape Xephos, and he supposes he can give the man this victory, at least. It wasn’t like he had a lot of things going for him at the moment – with a pang of regret, Xephos decides not to comment on that. Maybe someday. Maybe not.

He takes comfort in the uncertainty of that.

There’s another moment of tense silence and then it snaps, fades away as if it was never there and suddenly the music sounds a lot louder again and the smoke prickles in Xephos’ nose with renewed urgency.

He smiles anyway and doesn’t ask for a name in return.

“Well, I’m glad I don’t have to explain myself,” Xephos continues as if he didn’t just feel as if the man’s personal history was throwing itself on him like a hungry animal. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Not interested.”

“Actually, I think you are.”

The man scoffs, something most people would take as a sign that their conversation was over – has been over ever since it started, actually – but Xephos pushes on because he knows better.

“I think you are, because I have a job for you.”

“Is that so?” The man takes another drag from his cigarette and finally devotes all of his attention to the person who invaded his personal space so bluntly. His curiosity is peaked, despite the fact that the very presence of him – a bloody  _oracle,_ of all things – annoys him more than he cares to admit. He’s been down that road before, thank you very much.

Then again, he must admit he’s bored.  

“I’m listening.”

“It’s a simple thing, really,” Xephos answers, relaxing a little now that the tension between them has dissipated and the memory of his headache is allowed to fade. “I need someone to, say, help me keep an eye on things.”

The man doesn’t laugh, and Xephos can’t blame him. But old habits die hard and old jokes are comforting even long after they stop being funny. Still, despite the silence there’s no sign that the other man has left, no bar stool dragging over the dirty floor or the rustling sound of a coat being slipped on, so he figures he can safely assume that someone is still listening.

“You know the Garbage Court, I assume?”

“Everybody knows the Garbage Court. What of them?”

“Then you also know that they have a habit of… Being more than a little casual when it comes to the way they handle customers, let’s say.” Xephos chuckles quietly as he takes another sip of his drink. He’s strangely fond of the young trio that causes more trouble than three kids should be capable of doing, but they need someone to steer them away from certain destruction every once in a while. Spiking drinks and offering rides is all well and good, but all within reason.

And Xephos figures that a fallen angel looking for something to do might just be the perfect person to keep an eye on them.

“What makes you think I’d want to do that?” The man replies gruffly. “Maybe I’ve got better things to do than keep an eye on a group of horny, trigger-happy  _boys_.”

There’s something hesitant about the reply, even though the man’s tone hasn’t changed; he sounds dismissive and almost bored, as if he can’t believe that he’s even giving Xephos the time of day, but the nanosecond of hesitation is a win in Xephos’ book. He watches the stranger with a serious expression that seems out of place in a bar like this one and his voice is so quiet that the music almost drowns him out when he replies.

“Because you’re looking for direction, aren’t you? Falling means little if you don’t get up again.”

And that, he supposes, is the best he can offer.

Xephos takes the silence that follows for what it is and reaches into his pocket, presenting the other man with a piece of paper that has a name and a number scribbled on it. It’s not like he has business cards, but at least he had come relatively prepared. “Think about it. I would love to discuss it with you, if you’re interested.”

Their fingers touch when the man takes the paper and there’s no trace of the hostility that made Xephos’ head ache earlier.

“I might,” the man says. “If you’re lucky. I’m Tom, by the way. Although I’m sure you already knew that, crystal ball-gazer.”

And despite the snarky remark at the end, that right there – the way the man voluntarily shares his name even though Xephos never prompted him to, combined with the almost inaudible rustling of feathers that get drowned immediately by the sounds of a bar nearing closing time – is enough of a start for Xephos.

“I didn’t, actually. Can’t win them all.” Xephos smirks and slips off the bar stool with practised ease, nodding once even though he’s not sure Tom is looking at him or at the note. “Consider my offer, please.”

Xephos throws back the last of his drink and turns to leave, content with the way everything turned out, but then the man – Tom – rests his hand on Xephos’ arm and the oracle faces him once more, head tilted curiously.

Tom hesitates. “Why is it ironic? The smoking, I mean?”

Xephos smiles even though there’s nothing really funny about all this and shrugs. “Fire, smoke, light. The things you run from are the things that stare you in the face, I suppose.”

For a moment, Tom can swear that the bright-eyed man is staring straight at him – but then it passes and Xephos holds up his hand in greeting.

“I’ll be seeing you around.”

Dumb-founded, the ex-angel just shakes his head and lights another cigarette. Bloody oracles never give a straight answer.

But he supposes he can  _consider_  this.


End file.
